


You Jump, I Jump, Jack

by komkommertijd



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Adventure, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, Camping, Coffee, Developing Friendships, Drunken Shenanigans, Friendship, I just really want to make you all read Gilmore Girls fic, Journalism, M/M, Personal Growth, Phone Calls & Telephones, References to Journalists and Newspapers, Secret Organizations, Shenanigans, Unresolved Romantic Tension, episode rewrite: s05e06 norman mailer i'm pregnant, episode rewrite: s05e07 you jump i jump jack, in a way I guess ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29070984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komkommertijd/pseuds/komkommertijd
Summary: “It's beautiful.”“They're drunk,” Charles says matter of factly and chuckles lowly. The voices get louder when they reach the chorus, and Max closes his eyes and lets the night air consume him, and the voices carry him through the darkness. There's a strange sense of longing in his chest, and the wonderful pain of knowing that this will all be over soon, a mere memory shared by this very group of people.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Lando Norris & Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hulkenberg/Max Verstappen, Pierre Gasly & Esteban Ocon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	You Jump, I Jump, Jack

**Author's Note:**

> Hi kids, long time no see!
> 
> I've been on a Gilmore Girls rewatch trip together with my mother since last October and the urge to write about the series has only grown since then. The Life and Death Brigade is one of the best things in season 5 and 6 in my opinion (and I don't just say that because Finn is my favorite character), which is why I wrote about them! But it's F1, yay :)
> 
> None of the characters are mine, I just borrowed them from ASP and turned them into F1 drivers for this (a cast list can be found in the end notes). This oneshot follows the 6th and 7th episode of season 5 and is completely based on that, though I did try to change at least small bits of the dialogue and plot here and there. You can find the full series on Netflix, if you want to check it out (though the key scene of this oneshot is [this one](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=G3cGiwSbNHY)).
> 
> I apologize for any mistakes in advance, English is not my first language and proofreading this monster proved to be quite the challenge. I hope you'll still enjoy reading it, have fun :)
> 
> (Title from Gilmore Girls S05E07 "You Jump, I Jump, Jack")

Max enjoys coming into the office with a cup of hot coffee in hand, to get greeted by ringing telephones, the clicking noise of computer keyboards, and the rustling noise of paper being moved around. It's always busy, with reporters chatting quietly, articles getting handed around, and the overall vibe that working for a newspaper gives Max. It's comforting in a way, finding himself in that bubble of productivity where he's surrounded by other great minds and students who are just as passionate about journalism as he is.

On some days, working for the Yale Daily News can get a bit straining though, especially when he walks into the office armed with a pile of files he has yet to organize, only to be met by his more or less furious roommate waiting for him. He sighs and walks past him, expecting Pierre to follow him if what makes him this upset is actually important and has to be discussed immediately.

“I had a dream about you last night,” Pierre begins when he's caught up to his roommate, and Max raises an eyebrow in suspicion but keeps walking to the safe haven that is his desk to drop off the paper pile before his arms give in. He has a lot of work to do, and little time for that, with a paper for his psychology course that's due in a few days waiting for him at home.

“If it's something dirty, feel free to keep it to yourself.”

While Max smiles to himself, Pierre doesn't seem to find his retort all that amusing. He steps in front of Max, effectively blocking the path to his desk, which forces him to pay attention to their conversation. Pierre has always been a bit complicated to deal with but he's a good friend of Max's after they've dealt with their old rivalry from high school, and sharing a dorm with him for the second year in a row has bound them together more than Max would sometimes like to admit. He's still a reoccurring source of headaches for Max, unfortunately.

“I dreamt that you went to Esteban behind my back, cooked him dinner, and stole the religion beat from me despite knowing that I wanted to be assigned that.”

“Look, Pierre, it was just a dream.”

“It felt very real,” his roommate protests and Max uses that chance to sneak past him and drop his stuff on the desk, putting his bag down on the floor to lean against his drawers. Pierre leans against his desk, still glaring at Max with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks ridiculous, dressed in a Yale hoodie with the collar of a dress shirt peeking out, paired with dark jeans and a rather messy hairstyle.

“I don't want the religion beat, I want features, and you know that.” He takes a sip of his coffee, hoping to finish the conversation that way. Unfortunately, Pierre doesn't seem to be done with his rant yet, keeping Max from getting any work done for a while longer.

“Dreams tell you things,” Pierre argues, “it's our subconscious warning us about stuff that will happen to us, and my dream warned me of my backstabbing roommate.”

“Pierre, I have no intention of betraying you. Now please, can you leave and let me work?”

“No, wait, Max,” he starts again and Max counts to ten in his head to keep calm, sighing inwardly. Sometimes Pierre can be a bit too dramatic for his taste. “We're close, like friends, and I would hate if something small and unimportant like a competition for the religion beat would stand between us.”

Max groans loudly now and shoos his roommate away, assuring him that he doesn't want anything to do with the religion beat, and he's about to drop in his chair and zone out for a minute to rearrange his thoughts and get back on track when he hears Esteban calling out his name. He looks over to where his head editor is leaning against Carlos's desk, with a newspaper in hand. Max puts down his coffee on his own desk before walking over, all while Carlos tells him that it's really no big deal and that he should just get to work now that he's got the chance.

“Carlos got himself published in the 'New York Times'.”

“Really? Let me see,” he demands and flashes Esteban a quick smile when he hands Max the newspaper to let him have a look at the article in question. Carlos sinks down further in his chair and repeats his words, obviously uncomfortable with getting so much attention from his coworkers.

“ _No big deal_ , he says,” Esteban mocks, and watches expectantly as Max scans the page, recognizing this article from their last issue from before the semester break. Carlos keeps repeating that it really isn't as big as the other journalists make it out to be.

“They do that every once in a while, they read an article, and then they pick it up and publish it. That's what they did with Carlos's article as well.”

Max congratulates him with an excited smile but halts when Carlos doesn't join in, not showing any positive reaction at all.

“You should be proud.”

“It's not even the best thing I've written.”

“But it is pretty awesome still,” Max encourages, putting the newspaper back down on the table. Esteban hums, and when he looks at the head editor, he suddenly looks a lot more pissed than when he called Max over earlier. It confuses the student to no end, yet he's not surprised. Esteban can probably be just as dramatic as Pierre if he wants to be.

“It is awesome,” he repeats, and there's venom in his voice that Max didn't expect. “It's awesome how I spent my entire summer in Indiana working my ass off while Carlos went to all kinds of nerdy conventions, and yet look what happened.”

Carlos drops his head, looking down to where he's playing with his fingers in his lap, visibly ashamed. Max frowns and feels like he should stop Esteban's rant to cheer Carlos back up, it's not his fault nor was it his intent, after all, but it's hard to stop Esteban when he's having a dramatic phase.

“The 'New York Times',” Esteban says, stressing every word of the famous newspaper name, “isn't that great, Max? Can't you see how _great_ that is?” And he's smiling at the journalists, both of them painfully aware of the sarcasm that's dripping from his words. There's a twinkle of insanity in his eyes, so Max keeps quiet and avoids eye contact.

“Look man, leave it. I have no clue why they picked it, I certainly didn't ask them to, I don't even read the Times,” Carlos finally bites back, picking his pencil back up from the desk and trying to return to work, deciding to ignore Esteban's outbreak next to him.

“You don't read the-”

“Well, Carlos, it's awesome, and we're all happy for you,” Max interrupts before the conversation can get any more life-threatening for him and his colleague. He murmurs a _whatever_ and uses his ringing cellphone to escape the office. Max watches him leave, sighs again, and moves back to his own desk to finally get some work done. Esteban doesn't mention it anymore after the incident but remains sarcastic for the rest of the day.

On some days, being a journalist is a lot more dramatic than Max would have anticipated.

* * *

“Pierre, religious beat,” Esteban announces when he's reading out the new assignments.

“Really? I wouldn't have thought,” Pierre interrupts, voice innocent with half-genuine surprise, causing everyone to turn to look his way. He shrugs, seemingly disinterested. “Alright.”

Max has a hard time not rolling his eyes but Esteban simply ignores the comment and keeps reading, which Max is very grateful for. He ends up with the features while Carlos gets the crime, and right when he thinks that he'll finally get the time to catch up, Carlos hums and shrugs his shoulders in the same manner as Pierre. Esteban halts.

“What, Carlos, you don't want crime?”

“I don't care, it's all the same according to a Times columnist anyway.”

If Esteban has a hard time biting back his remarks, he's really good at concealing it this time, simply dismissing everyone and telling them to get to work instead of arguing with Carlos about the New York Times feature again. Max follows him through the office when he's on his way to God knows where, wanting to thank him personally for assigning Max the features beat, so he does just that. Esteban hums but doesn't acknowledge it any further.

“I have about a million ideas for my first story, so I was wondering if I could run them by you to see what you think about them.”

Esteban stops walking and turns around to face Max again, considering him for a second before leaning against the next best desk and giving him two minutes to spill his ideas. He holds up the list he's been carrying around with him since the earlier meeting, reading through his ideas and telling them to Esteban, adding comments here and there to explain what he wants to do, while his head editor only offers a few words in reply to each one, which doesn't really help but maybe he'll react differently if he hears something that's actually good. Max doubts that he's as excited about his ideas as he himself is.

“And then there's the issue of illegal music downloading on campus, which I think-”

He's interrupted when Esteban stands back up and his eyes go wide in horror, face paling immediately. He mumbles an “oh no,” which confuses Max at first, his ideas might not be the best but they're not terrible, until he notices that Esteban isn't looking at him anymore, staring at something that's happening behind Max. He frowns but turns around to see what's going on, only to be faced with Charles, kissing some girl Max has never seen before, saying goodbye to her and some of what must be his other friends before he walks into the office.

“Esteban, my friend!” he calls out cheerfully and walks over to where he's standing next to Max, shaking his hand and patting his shoulder all while smiling as if they've known each other forever. Esteban is smiling too, but Max can see that he's forcing himself, and his voice sounds suspiciously high when he walks Charles to his desk and continues the small talk.

“Listen, I didn't know when you were going to come back so I gave out the beats already, there aren't any left, unfortunately.”

“Relax, I'm just here because my father wants me to, I'm not going to be any trouble.”

“You and trouble? Stop, Charles, please,” Esteban replies, forcing out a chuckle. Charles raises an unimpressed eyebrow before he gets rid of the head editor with a rather dry comment. Max looks away from the scene, staring down at his note block to appear busy, but Charles greets him anyway, so he gives him a small smile and tries to actually get back to work right after. He's forced to look back up when Esteban suddenly appears at his own desk though, leaning closer than Max would normally find comfortable. He is speaking a bit quieter now since Charles is sitting almost right across from Max, which is a rather unexpected development as it is.

“You know Charles? How do you know him?”

“I don't know him, I only met him shortly. My friend introduced us,” he replies, thinking back to their first encounter on the yard when he went out to get some coffee, and to their second encounter when Charles's very confused Australian friend searched for his potential soulmate all over the campus and mistakingly ended up in front of the door of Max's dorm.

“So you're not friends.”

Max frowns but shakes his head. He wasn't lying when he said that he doesn't really know the guy. It's strange how they're meeting again at the Yale Daily News office of all places. They don't have any courses together that he could know Charles from, so he's rather clueless about what to tell Esteban.

“He's a real pain to deal with. He took last year off with a bunch of his friends to sail daddy's yacht around the world until he sank it right off of Fiji. They spent six months partying and doing God knows what in there until daddy sent a plane to bring them back.” Esteban sounds anything but amused, and his stressing of _daddy_ sounds derogatory in a way that confuses Max even more.

“So I'm guessing his father is rich?”

“His father's Hervé Leclerc.”

That makes Max actually listen up, as he recognizes the name. He certainly didn't know that about Charles before, and couldn't have guessed it even if he tried.

“Hervé Leclerc. The newspaper guy?”

“Newspaper _magnet_ ,” Esteban corrects him, “the guy owns at least 10 different newspapers. I spent two years kissing Charles's ass, guess it's time to wet my lips again. Man, I hate that kind of guys.”

“What kind of guys?”

“Those privileged white males.”

“You do realize that we also belong to that group, right?” Max asks with slight amusement in his voice.

“Why am I even talking to you?” Esteban back-questioned with exasperation, only for Max to remind him that they were talking about his article before Charles disrupted the peace in the office. Esteban is too distracted by the sudden invasion, so he simply tells Max to do what feels right to him and to trust his gut, leaving him alone to fight with his ideas. He settles for the downloading story in the end.

Esteban sends another sharp look Charles's way as he goes, which makes the other immediately start tapping around on his keyboard while smiling a badly faked, very wide smile at Esteban, both of them well aware that Charles actually won't get any kind of work done. Once the head editor has disappeared, Charles settles back down, attempts to wink at Max but terribly fails, and then leans back to take a nap on his chair. Max just shakes his head and starts working, there are more important things to take care of than a lazy rich boy.

* * *

“I've already gathered tons of data and I got a lot of research done today, and the best thing is that Jamie, a girl who lives on the fourth floor, her father ran the security at an art gallery, and he said he'd try to get an artist on the phone for me for an interview,” Max rambles into the phone speaker. He's sitting in his dorm's living room with a cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand and his laptop opened on the coffee table, all kinds of important papers strewn around it. He takes a deep breath before he keeps talking, asking about whether or not that story idea actually sounds important enough to be published, only to be met with a clear yes.

“I think so too, I have a good feeling about this, Hülkenberg,” he says, and smiles when Nico's laugh echoes from the speaker. His joy is shortly disrupted when Pierre unlocks the front door, talking on the phone as well, just a few notches louder and angrier than Max, who turns away and lets his roommate deal with his article related issues on his own, while he focusses on his, arguing with someone. It sounds like he might be winning the argument.

“So when do I get to read that article?”

“Well,” Max begins and types another sentence on his laptop before returning his attention to the call, “I might finish a rough draft until our date tomorrow night, so you can have a romantic night of proofreading.”

“Yeah, listen Max-”

“I'm just kidding, you don't have to read it, I can also read it for you if you want me to.”

“I have work tomorrow night.”

Max's heart sinks and he's at a loss for words. Nico doesn't normally work on Thursdays, which makes it the only real possibility for them to meet and spend time together, with Max still stuck at Yale and rarely having the time to drive back home. _Since when does Nico work on Thursdays?_

“Since my boss decided to get some cash out of the 24-hour trucker crowd off Highway 48. We even installed an icy machine. I'm stuck working until we see whether the new system works out and pays off, literally.”

“Alright, so not tomorrow. How about Saturday?” Max tries again, trying to sound cheerful despite his disappointment about their date night cancellation. He has a feeling that they won't figure this out.

“Work again. How about next week? I have Tuesday and Wednesday off.”

Max sighs and slumps in his armchair. He knew that splitting his time between New Haven and Stars Hollow would be difficult, and making it work with Nico would need a lot of effort, but he didn't expect it to become that difficult with their free time barely ever overlapping.

“I have the article and I'm very behind on my reading, so I definitely need to finish that. Next weekend?” He's not getting his hopes up and still gets disappointed. It really is frustrating, for more reasons than one.

“I'm going to Maine for my grandparent's wedding anniversary.”

“Well, it was nice knowing you,” Max replies and even manages a slight chuckle. Nico mimics the sound but even through the phone, Max can sense that he isn't too happy about their current situation either. Why did things always have to be so complicated?

“So the week after next?”

“I guess so,” Nico sighs.

“I turn in my article that Monday,” Max adds after checking his schedule, spinning his pencil in his free hand to possibly write down their date.

“Alright, Monday night it is then.”

“You know how they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Sex can do that also.”

Max actually has to laugh at that, and when he writes down a note to remember the date, things begin to look a bit brighter. They keep talking for a while, about things that are less depressing than their busy schedules, and Nico only hangs up when he has to get back to work, choosing the exact same moment in which Pierre emerges from his room again.

He complains about something related to his article again, something about the humor of priests, and Max replies but barely pays attention to it, lost in his mind as he tries to come to terms with the issue he's facing. Getting back together with Nico wasn't really a broadly appreciated thing to do, and without really trying to make it work, Max would surely ruin it all over again soon, for the third time in a row. He doesn't want that, especially because his mom would very much want them to part ways for good, but the thought is there, especially at times like that. He doesn't want it to be, and guilt mixes with the coffee in his stomach

Pierre finishes his rant and switches the topic to Max's work, asking about how the article is coming along. As he speaks, Max begins to feel even more discouraged. It's always the same thing, downloads are going up, CD sales are dropping, the music industry is hurting although it doesn't really hurt the industry, and then he says something about a fresh angle and leaves Max to deal with his eye-opening comment on his own.

He's right, it's really just the same thing all over again, nothing that the people aren't aware of already anyway. It's not the kind of thing Max wants to report, something that he puts a lot of effort into only for it to approve the norm and show what's been shown a million times before. Facts don't change, and neither does the final result of the articles. It's a dead end. He reaches for another cup of coffee and begins to overthink his work.

* * *

Nonetheless, Max spends his evening doing more research for his article on illegal downloads and ends up in the rather messy dorm room of a student who seems all too eager to explain how downloading music works, clicking through tons of pages and explaining all kind of stuff to Max that he doesn't quite understand but writes down anyway, and it's a truly depressing experience. The stuffy air in the room makes it hard to think.

When he asks the guy whether he still buys CDs, he gets a positive answer, no elaboration, and the same facts that Pierre had presented him with earlier that day. The sales of CDs went back up, and _that's so weird_ , and Max isn't getting anywhere with his new angle. He smiles through his pain and lets the guy ramble on about a band he doesn't like, all while he taps with his pencil against his note block and tries to pay attention, or at least look interested.

After another ten minutes of not gaining any valuable information, Max excuses himself to get a cup of coffee and flees the dorm to get a moment to breathe and sort his thoughts. It's quiet when he gets to the toilet, and after washing his face with cold water and drinking a few sips of it, he stares at his reflection in the mirror. He looks tired, not burned-out tired, just tired and disappointed in his skills as a journalist. How is he supposed to become a great deal one day and write articles that everyone around the globe will read if he can't even pick out the really good stories in the first place?

He decides that he can't stay away for too long, he's not impolite like that, but neither can he leave without at least thanking the guy for his time, so he sighs and dries off his face, leaving the bathroom with the same small amount of motivation he's had before coming there. He's lost in his own thoughts when he makes his way back to the dorm room until another body collides with his and snaps him out of it.

It's a girl, or at least he assumes it is, dressed in a long red dress, face hidden under a gorilla mask. She seems tipsy, not quite drunk yet, and she giggles when she catches herself, trying to keep her balance after running into Max, obviously more affected by the impact than him. She takes off the mask to reveal her face, framed by dark hair, and her brown eyes twinkle when she lifts a finger to her lips and signals Max to be quiet.

Something about that is strange, Max thinks, even if one ignores the gorilla mask. The girl makes her way down the hallway, not looking back at him, and Max is left staring after her while that weird irk is not going away. He looks back one more time, and then he follows her, out of the building and onto the street, even if that might be a bad idea and a rather creepy thing to do. Trying to keep a safe distance, Max stops on the threshold and watches a black car pull up. He can't make out any faces of the people inside, but there's one thing that he notices pretty clearly when the girl opens the door and jumps in.

“In Omnia Paratus!” she exclaims with a giggle, and someone in the car apparently tries silencing her but fails. The car leaves as fast as it has arrived, speeding off as soon as the girl with the mask has closed the car door behind her. Max is left standing there in the cool evening air, wondering, and the irk is still there.

* * *

“Gasly,” Esteban says more than loudly when he storms into the office, determined steps right up to Pierre's desk. Max looks up from his own computer, confused about what is happening but unable to focus when he knows they will end up fighting again, so he drops his own stuff and watches from a safe distance, in case he needs to jump in and break it up.

Pierre looks almost bored when Esteban arrives, basically fuming, and he's unimpressed when he's shown a piece of paper that Max can't quite make out from where he's sitting. Pierre tells Esteban that he's busy and looks back at his computer screen, trying to ignore the head editor's current level of anger as he leans over the desk and closer into Pierre's space.

“Rabbi Baron has changed his number twice, Father Callahan is threatening us with a restraining order-”

“If I had a nickel,” is all he receives in reply but Pierre does finally put down his work to listen to Esteban's complaints, who keeps listing more things.

“Pierre! You have threatened, freaked out, and basically stalked every religious leader in a 100-mile radius. We've never received that many complaints at once in the entire history of the Yale Daily News.”

“Hey, you gave me this beat to find a story and dig deeper, not to write some half-assed stuff that everyone else could also pull off.”

“Gasly!”

“What?” Pierre replies, slowly getting annoyed. They both stare at each other intently for what feels like an eternity, and even Max is holding his breath despite not being involved in that fight at all, and then Esteban smiles, which makes no sense whatsoever.

“Good job, keep it up.”

Max thinks he might have misheard that last sentence but Pierre mirrors the smile and thanks the head editor before he gets back to work. He doesn't have much time to overthink what in earth's name had just happened, seeing as Esteban turns back around and walks in his direction.

“Hey, Esteban? I want to change the topic of my article. The downloading thing was a bit of a dead end.”

“Yeah, just hearing you pitch that idea already bored me. So, what do you have?”

Max would be offended if he didn't know Esteban well enough to anticipate that kind of reply, so he simply leans forward on his chair and pulls his notebook closer on the desk, getting ready to tell Esteban the whole story.

“Last night I was at Berkeley,” he begins and gestures rather wildly with the pen in his hand, “and when I returned from the restroom I ran into a girl. She was dressed in a full ball gown and wearing one of those plastic gorilla masks. I followed her to the parking lot and watched her get into an SUV, and she said the phrase _In Omnia Paratus_ , which means 'ready for anything'. I took Latin so I understood it.”

“Very impressed,” Esteban comments, not sounding very impressed at all, “continue.”

“The whole thing seemed strange to me so I decided to look it up and the exciting thing is, that the phrase links back to a club here at Yale,” Max explains and opens the link he's found on his computer to show Esteban his source.

“It's some kind of secret society dating back to the 1800s and that was their motto. That alone isn't interesting but,” he clicks on another link and opens a picture, portraying a group of people jumping off a bridge with umbrellas in their hands, the phrase written over the picture in neat white letters. “This picture links back to an article from the Yale Daily News from 1966, which discussed whether or not the club exists.”

“The Life and Death Brigade... Yeah, I've heard of them,” Esteban replies, and he's suddenly a lot more focussed on what Max is telling him, leaning closer with one hand on the back of Max's chair and the other one propped up on the table, both of them staring at the screen as if it would help them to solve the riddle in any way.

“I don't know much about them but I do know that the paper tried tracking them down before. No one's ever gotten quite this close, though. We all know it exists, but we don't _know_ it exists. God, I hate those stupid clubs.”

“I want to do this story,” Max says and finally looks away from the screen and up at Esteban, who's got a small frown on his face but seems intrigued. “I want to track them down, get inside, finally uncover the whole truth.”

“Alright, go for it,” Esteban says, smiles at his journalist, and disappears without another word. Max watches him leave, and when he turns back to look at the computer screen, he feels more determined than he's felt in a long while as if this could somehow really become his thing. He's found his next big story.

* * *

After dinner at his grandparent's place, Max goes straight back to Yale and into the newspaper office. No one is there that late in the day on a Friday evening, most students preferring getting drunk over doing research on a club that might or might not exist, although he's pretty sure that it does, but Max is in a flow, and the time passes fast as he reads page after page, scanning through old documents, putting sticky notes on important pages and highlighting phrases on his printed out papers.

He's surrounded by piles of old books containing the newspaper articles he needs for reference, and his computer might overheat from all the stuff he's looked up and retyped for a million times in a separate document for his notes.

Max stops when he finds one article about a few members of a secret society getting caught by the police, and there's a picture that arouses his attention. The quality isn't the best but clearly shows three men dressed in suits with their hands cuffed together, followed by police officers as they walked past the photographer. It's not the picture itself but the caption that draws him in, listing the names of the portrayed men. _Leclerc_.

Jackpot.

Max scrambles to get another note, writing down the full name before putting his stuff away, turning off the light, and leaving the office for the night. He and Charles would have a lot to talk about.

* * *

He waits for the Leclerc heir on the yard, trying not to look suspicious as he leans against a pillar with his books from the previous lecture still in hand. After ten minutes of waiting, Charles finally walks past, talking to a guy Max doesn't know and laughing over the story the other student is telling him before throwing in a stupid comment. Max pushes himself away from the pillar and follows the small group until he finds the willpower in himself to call out Charles's name. While Charles turns around, the other guys take that as their sign to leave. Max holds on to his books a little tighter when Charles smiles.

“Were you waiting on me?”

“Maybe,” Max replies, refusing to keep moving so Charles would have to actually pay attention to him. Apparently, Pierre's tactics work.

“I just wanted to give you a chance to respond to my article.”

“What article?”

“I'm writing a feature about the Life and Death Brigade.”

At the mention of that name, Charles grimaces before giving Max another one of those smiles that are supposed to look charming. Max stays unimpressed, willing to play the same game if Charles wants to pretend that he's innocent.

“I don't really know what you're talking about, Verstappen.”

“That's strange. It's one of those super exclusive clubs here at Yale with memberships spanning centuries, secret sayings and secret handshakes, running around in circles in your underwear, all that stuff.”

Charles raises his eyebrows as if he's overwhelmed by what Max is telling him, blinking slowly. He knows that Charles is well aware of what he's talking about though, and Max wouldn't be a good journalist if he gave in now.

“I'm writing some sort of introduction to this club and I thought that since you are part of it you might want your view on things included in the article.”

“I'm in it?”

“Are you not?”

“I have yet to run in a circle in my underwear.” Max would get angry at Charles's behavior but he knows that the other student never takes anything seriously. The yacht incident Esteban told him about was only one of many indicators. It isn't worth getting angry, that's just what Charles wants him to do, so Max shrugs and gives him a smile, not letting him win.

“I do have proof that your grandfather was in it, and that means your father was in it, and that should mean that you are in it. But it's okay, no worries, I have plenty of information without you already.”

“Plenty without me, huh?”

“I have the ballgowns, the girl in the gorilla mask, _In Omnia Paratus_ , which is a very cool catchphrase, by the way. I also have the license plate number of the black SUV I saw and at least two dozens of other details. I don't need you that desperately, Leclerc.”

Charles still looks unimpressed.

“An interview with an actual member would have been great to support my work but I figured since I know your routine now, I might as well just track you and you'll eventually lead me there. I just wanted to give you a chance to do this the easy way.”

“Oh, you'll track me? Well, in that case, I'm going back to my room now. I'll leave the window open in case you feel the need to track me from the inside,” and with that and a self-satisfied grin, Charles leaves Max standing on the yard alone as he begins walking again.

“Good luck with that article though, it sounds like a good story,” he adds when he turns around one last time, giving Max a thumbs up before leaving for good. Max bites his lip and keeps looking in the direction in which Charles has left, and what he feels right then and there just gives him all the more reasons to keep going. He'd show Charles that playing with Max isn't a game he could win.

* * *

The next day at the newspaper goes by rather slowly, with not much new information coming up about the club, and Pierre has been moping all day about not feeling well. The only really strange thing though is seeing Charles in the office, walking around with a file in his hands as if he's actually working. Max watches him walk back to his desk with a frown until his computer makes a noise to inform him about an incoming message that requires his attention.

_> Hey Maxy, I've got a proposition for you._

The message only confuses him even more, and when he looks up from his screen, everyone around him is busy working, talking about articles, and comparing sources. And who would call him Maxy?

His eyes finally get stuck on Charles, who seems to have watched him for the entire last minute, and now smiles at Max. It must be him then.

_< REPLY> Tell me._

When he looks back to Charles, he finds him typing away on his keyboard. It really is him, Max realizes and frowns.

_> I'll help you with your article, get that inside view for you and all that. You just have to agree to some conditions._

_< REPLY> What conditions?_

Charles smiles at the screen before he resumes his typing.

_> The first condition is that you have to agree before you know the conditions. What do you say, Maxy, are you in or out?_

He hesitates at that. It seems reasonable enough that the club makes the rules if they allow him to learn about their secrets. And how bad could those conditions really be? As far as his research goes, no one has died during Life and Death Brigade events. _Yet_. His fingers hover above the keys, and Max knows that being a good journalist sometimes means taking risks. This is his chance.

_< REPLY> I'm in._

He looks over to Charles's desk again, only to find that the other one has left when he wasn't paying attention to him. This would be interesting.

* * *

“Headache, Esteban?” Max asks when he arrives at the office, where his head editor is busy complaining to another reporter about his article before taking a pill and downing it with water, pulling a face at the bitter taste of the pain killer. He holds on to the cup and walks away from the poor guy he's threatened just now, so Max deems it fit to follow him through the office, seeing as their conversation has just started.

“You know, Charles Kuralt used to eat Aspirin like candy,” he replies matter of factly while walking around the desks to pick up files with drafts and finished articles from the reporters, still going on about the late journalist.

“So how's your article coming along?”

“It's going well, I've got a contact.”

“Inside?”

“Deep inside.”

“Who are they?”

“It's anonymous, don't ask about it again.”

“That's fine by me,” Esteban shrugs and picks up the last file on his way to the file cabinet, “Are you being careful?”

“Careful enough, I guess.”

“Good, keep going.”

“Bet,” Max says, right when they arrive at Esteban's final destination, and the head editor turns around, looking at him with an impressed face, even smiling despite his headache.

“We just had a very 'All the President's Men' moment, I love it. Moving around the newsroom like that felt good.”

“We can try that again sometime,” Max replies, and can't contain his own smile. Esteban nods and they part ways, they both still have a lot of work to do, and Max once again remembers why working for the Yale Daily News is actually worth all the pain, stress, and drama sometimes.

* * *

It's already late when Max gets back to his dorm, and the exhaustion is slowly but surely taking over his body. His legs feel heavy and his shoulders are aching from working for so long, so he sighs in relief when he finally gets to drop his heavy backpack on the desk chair. His answering machine is blinking with a new message and Max clicks on the button to listen to it while aimlessly walking through his room the way he always does, just like he used to do at home as well. It's weird how some things don't change, no matter where he ends up.

“Hey, it's Nico. Uh, we were supposed to meet up the day after tomorrow but I have to cancel, again. I promise, one day I'll have one job instead of three and that will hopefully make things easier for us.”

Max already felt that something like this was coming when he first heard Nico's voice echoing from the small machine on his nightstand. He bites his lip to keep the frustration at bay and keeps walking around the room, listening to Nico talking until something unusual catches his eye.

There's a yellow envelope stuck to his window, with his first name written on it in big, bold black letters in a handwriting he doesn't recognize. He frowns but moves to open the window and reaches for it, opening the envelope as soon as he regains his proper balance, and closes the window again, all while Nico is still speaking. Or well, his recording is still filling Max's room with soothing noise at least.

“Maybe we could meet tomorrow night? I'm not sure whether you mentioned being busy then, so I just figured I should ask. I have a three-hour window in the evening, I was thinking dinner or something?”

Nico keeps rambling about a possible date, and Max sits down on his bed and unfolds the single piece of yellows paper that the envelope contains. It's the same kind of paper he uses for taking notes for the newspaper, but that's not the point he should be focussing on. The handwriting is similarly indistinguishable as the one on the envelope, so it doesn't reveal much about the person who sent him that letter.

_Be in your vestibule at four tomorrow. Blindfolded. The LDB_

That's all it says, nothing more on the back of the paper, either. When Max looks back into the envelope, he finds a black piece of fabric in it, the blindfold he's supposed to wear. It's strange but he probably shouldn't question the tactics of a highly exclusive secret club, and it would lead him right where he wants to be, so the confusion and all the secret manners should be worth it in the end. He turns around to look at his window again as if he expects the person who left that letter for him to suddenly appear there.

Nothing. Just students passing by in the light of the street lamps, and the old trees covering up the majority of the view. The answer machine beeps again when Nico's message is over, only for Max to realize that he didn't really listen to the message his boyfriend left him in favor of the Life and Death Brigade letter. He folds the paper back up and puts it on his nightstand together with the blindfold, and taps some buttons to listen to the message again, still frowning about the weird invitation.

* * *

It's definitely strange and borderline embarrassing to stand in the middle of the hallway wearing a blindfold in the middle of the afternoon, and Max can't see anyone passing him but figures that he receives a lot of confused and judgemental stares from the other students. It's not every day that someone stands in the hallway with a blindfold on, after all. He doesn't quite know what to do with his hands either, so he just nervously fiddles with his fingers while the minutes stretch on.

He doesn't know how much time has passed since he put on the blindfold and he can't exactly check now, so he just stands there and waits, and hopes that this isn't some horribly bad prank that Charles is pulling on him to teach him a lesson about invading the privacy of other people. He wouldn't put it past him.

“Hey Maxy, are you ready?” Charles's voice suddenly appears next to him, and before Max is able to reply anything, the other student grabs his arm, gentle but with enough pressure to drag Max along, who has a hard time keeping up. He can't see where they're going, which is probably the whole point of wearing that stupid blindfold, but it also makes walking like a normal person incredibly difficult. He trips over his own feet, which is so distracting that he can't quite place where they're currently at. Before Charles had arrived to drag him across the campus, Max was firmly determined to pay attention to where they're going and memorize the path so he could recreate the whole thing later but now he's just trying not to fall. Maybe Charles knew that he'd try to track him once again.

He gets carefully helped into a car, with comfortable seats and smelling like most cars Max knows, and Charles slides in next to him before the door closes with a loud thud. It's still too dark to see, so Max tries focussing on his other senses to get a better idea of where they are, who's with them, and what their plan is.

“Hit it!” Charles calls out, which earns him a loud groan from the front seats while they all put on their seat belts, clicking noise filling the air briefly. At least road safety seems to be a thing in the Life and Death Brigade, Max thinks, and listens to the motor of the car getting turned on.

“Not so loud!” the same voice replies, and Max figures that it must be the guy behind the steering wheel. He recognizes the voice but needs a second to place the accent, which he uses to put down his bag and jacket on the empty spot next to him. There's no one on his other side, Charles's leg is the only one touching his own.

“You're even more auditorially sensitive today than usual,” a girl replies, probably riding shotgun since the voice is also coming from the front, and her giggle sounds just as familiar, while the driver groans again at the noise she's making.

“Yeah, your voice definitely helps.”

“Is the blindfold in place?” another voice asks, closer to Max's ear than anticipated, which makes him jump slightly in surprise. That means that someone else is sitting behind him in the back, so the car they're in is probably a van or an SUV. Sometimes Max is pretty proud of his skills when it comes to putting two and two together, it's certainly coming in handy now.

“Secure and in place, don't worry,” Charles confirms while the car starts moving, pulling out of the parking lot. It's a weird feeling, sitting in a car blindfolded, unknowing where they're going to, not anticipating any turns and stops, but Max can't really do much about it and simply decides to endure it for the time being and add it to his ever-growing list of weird experiences later.

“Our anonymity is crucial, Charles,” the voice from the backseat says. Max is sure he knows all the people in the car, minus the girl, and frowns at this poor attempt at appearing like a serious organization. Another groan from the front.

“What's wrong with Daniel?” Max asks, half concerned, half curious, and willing to make use of his skills. He hopes he's not mistaking the guy for someone else.

“Good job with the blindfold, Charles,” is the sarcastic reply from the backseat. Charles shifts next to Max, and they're still sitting so close together that their knees now touch, heat radiating from Charles that he can feel even through the fabric of his jeans.

“I do recognize your voices, you know, Lando.”

“Could you _please_ keep it down?” Daniel asks again.

“Can I take off my blindfold now that I know who all of you are?”

Charles chuckles next to him, putting an arm around Max's shoulder on the back of the car seat. It should feel more uncomfortable than it does. “We're also hiding our destination.”

“Why did we have to leave at this ungodly hour?” Daniel groans and stops the car, presumably at a red light or a stop sign. When Max tells him it's four in the afternoon, Charles just snorts and tells him that Daniel isn't too big of a fan of the sun, which his Australian sidekick comments on by telling him that it's simply too bright. Why he's this hungover in the afternoon, Max doesn't know and feels like he doesn't want to know either.

“So how come you're not wearing your gorilla masks?”

Lando moves, he knows that because he holds on to Max's seat where Charles's arm doesn't occupy the space to do so, making the backrest shake slightly, and he sighs in despair.

“Great, he can see.”

“I can tell because your voices aren't muffled, Lando.”

“Ah, he's sharp!” the girl from the passenger seat chimes in, and Max remembers the only part of the formula he hasn't solved yet.

“Who's the girl?”

“I've been told we've met, though I have no memory of that,” and her voice becomes louder, which probably means that she has turned around to answer Max's question. He frowns but then it clicks.

“Ah, gorilla girl.” And she laughs, thanking Max for the nice nickname, and then she turns back around and giggles, while Daniel yawns loudly.

“By the way, this is overnight. It doesn't screw up anything for you, right?” Max can't help but feel annoyed, he's pretty sure Charles has known about that all along and hasn't informed him on purpose. He doesn't have any clothes with him to change into for the next day but Max isn't that easy to be messed with, so he simply shrugs and confirms that he has indeed time for an overnight stay.

“Great, a schedule change.”

“We like our schedules loose, like our women,” Daniel comments, and Max notices that his accent sounds a lot more prominent when he's surrounded by a group of Americans. Lando comments something from the backseat. _So they must be best friends when Charles is not around._

“My God, it's early,” he adds with yet another groan.

* * *

Max doesn't know how much time has passed since they have left New Haven, but it's colder outside when the car finally comes to a halt and it's a relief that he gets to move his legs again. Daniel is the first to disappear, yelling about the mountain air revivifying him, and his laughter gets quieter as he leaves. Max is beginning to think he's either a drama major or in a constant state of drunkness without even needing the alcohol for that.

“Make sure he doesn't run off a cliff,” Charles tells the other passengers, and Lando says something about it being Charlotte's turn to take care of their Australian friend. She sighs and slams the car door close behind her, before calling out for Daniel to tell him to slow down, and then Max is left alone with Lando and Charles, who's holding on to his upper arms to offer some security now that the ground they're walking on is even more uneven than on campus. He'd appreciate it more if he just got to take off the blindfold.

Gorilla girl's name is Charlotte, then.

Max still can't see but the smell of wood and moss is so prominent, that it isn't hard to guess where they're at. Judging by the noise the cicadas are making, accompanied by the hooting of an owl somewhere in the distance, it must be night time by now. He holds on to his backpack a little harder and follows Charles's lead, dead leaves rustling underneath their feet.

There's a weird metallic creaking noise Max can't quite place but they keep moving, up a hill and, he assumes, further into the woods. The path is narrow, there are branches brushing his arm every once in a while, and Charles's hand feels warm on his arm as they walk through the dark. He can hear himself breathe because he doesn't have much else to focus on now that everyone else has left.

“Can I take the blindfold off soon or am I going to be wearing it for the entirety of this trip?”

“It's coming off,” Charles tries to calm him down, amusement audible in his voice. They stop walking, Max notes when he runs into Charles. “In fact, it's coming off right now.”

When Charles pulls the black fabric off Max's eyes, it takes him a second to get used to the light again, though it is in fact night time so it's easier to bear, else he would probably side with Daniel and hate the sun. The sight in front of him is not what he'd expected at all, and makes his breath catch in his throat.

There are tents scattered around the clearing, white fabric secured with ropes and wooden poles in a rather old-fashioned way. There are tables standing outside, with matching white table cloth and candles, something that doesn't really fit camping in Max's head but somehow still looks right, as if it belongs there. He sees people walking around the camp, dressed in white creamy suits with red bowties draped around their necks that have yet to be tied.

“Is that what you've expected?”

“No, not at all,” Max admits, and follows Charles who once again takes the lead, and now he finally knows what makes the creaking noise when he looks at the lantern he's carrying around. Charles doesn't fit into the scene just yet, in his jeans, black shirt, and a leather jacket, but that is the least of Max's concerns. He can finally see again and all he worries about is what Charles is wearing, stupid.

“Let me guess, you were thinking about sleeping bags, flashlights, alcohol, some half-eaten Oreos, and a bong?” Charles is smiling, and Max can't help but laugh sheepishly at his question.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well,” Charles begins and puts down his lantern on a table, next to some others that have been placed there already, “you can apologize later. This one's yours.”

Max peeks through the fabric of the tent, and he's met with the view of a small bed against one of the tent sides, a matching nightstand with a lit candle and some cutlery on it that he's not going to question, and some towels on a chair in the corner. Max might not be a big fan of camping but this might make up for it.

Charles informs him that he has half an hour before the party starts and smiles at Max one more time before leaving him alone to arrive properly. Max drops his bag on the bed and sits down next to it, and he really wouldn't have expected for his mattress to feel this nice. It's still a camping trip after all.

He lets himself get settled first, just sitting in his little space, listening to the faint voices coming from outside, and getting used to the oddly cozy and nice environment. A thought crosses his mind, so he pulls out his phone and clicks on the speed dial, only to end up on the voice mail immediately, as expected. He doesn't want to admit it, but he was kind of hoping for that to happen, it makes things a bit easier for the time being.

“Hi Nico, it's Max. I would love to have dinner tonight but something totally unexpected came up and it'll keep me busy for a few days, probably. It's all really weird and hard to explain, but I will tell you about it when I get back home. If I get back home. I'm kidding, or so I hope. I'll talk to you soon.”

He puts his phone into his bag and pulls out his note block instead, takes a deep breath, and starts writing down all the thoughts and information he's gathered already to distract him from the mild guilt he's feeling.

* * *

There's jazz music playing when he leaves his tent again, and some of the guys he saw earlier are now wearing some kind of hats he would expect park rangers to wear, walking around the camp with glasses in their hands, which are probably filled with alcohol. The girls are dressed in white summer dresses, not the kind of ball gowns from his first encounter with Charlotte, rather something that allows them to dance and have fun, and their hair is styled beautifully for the occasion, as far as Max can judge that, some of them hiding it under round hats with thin white ribbons wrapped around it.

“Hey, I'm Max Verstappen,” he tries introducing himself to one of the couples walking by, following them on their way to the gathering. “This seems like quite the event, are all Life and Death Brigade gatherings as elaborate as this one?”

The couple keeps walking, paying him no mind, looking at him judgingly as they continue their conversation. Max doesn't give up just yet, clutching to his small note block while he looks for someone else to approach. He spots Lando talking to a group of other guys near a firepit and sees it as his chance. Lando isn't really nice to people that aren't as well off as he is most of the time, but he's familiar enough to not ignore Max, especially because he's a friend of Charles.

“Hey, everyone,” he announces his arrival, which inevitably makes all eyes turn his way. Max smiles in an attempt to appear friendly, unsure about what else to do, and only then notices the shock on the faces of the guys he's talking to.

“Shocking,” one of them says, confirming his interpretation.

“Silly boy, not adjusting to this point of ours,” Lando adds, which only adds to Max's confusion in return.

“Excuse me?”

“Faux Pas count is six, am I right?”

The guy next to Lando nods in reply, blue eyes watching Max attentively but rather uninterested, and he takes another sip of what looks like scotch from his glass while Lando keeps talking.

“I can only wish for you to catch on, Max.”

“So you're playing a game?”

“At which you totally fail right now,” the tall guy adds with a chuckle, raising his glass once again.

“Do you want for instruction?”

Max shrugs and nods, why not? How bad could it be to bond a bit with the Life and Death Brigade members, even if they are Charles's friends and probably very similar to him. It's an exclusive club, it was obvious from the start that the members would be rich and entitled. They're beginning to look nicer now that Max agreed to learn about the rules of their game.

“Said gap 'twixt D and F shall not slip from lips in any word this group allows.”

Max frowns but writes it down on his note block, which gains him some more seconds to think about it. _The gap 'twixt D and F..._

“You're not using the letter E?”

“Says this thing our group did banish out loud, my God,” the tall guy adds, and unlike most people around him, Max can hear a faint British accent now. Maybe Daniel isn't the only one not brought up in American circles and has been left to speak as he deems fit in boarding schools.

“So no one is supposed to say the letter E.”

“This man haunts us with this thing I forbid,” Lando sighs and lifts his own glass now as well, while his British friend comes up with a mild insult, obviously excluding the cursed letter. Max takes some more notes, and then leaves the other guys to be with their strange game, not willing to anger them even more and listen to them making fun of him.

He resumes walking around the area, past the tents and well-dressed people, most of whom don't pay him any mind at all, as if he's not even there. Max finds his way to the tables with the food after a while, which comes with another familiar face that he can now put a name to, standing by the fruit platters with a glass in hand and fishing a strawberry out of the mix.

“Hey Charlotte,” he greets and smiles tentatively when she turns around to look at him with relief written all over her face.

“Thank God you're using E's. Champagne?”

“No thank you, maybe later.”

Max looks around the area once more, and spots Charles by the fire, talking and laughing with a group of girls, which seems pretty spot on, the usual picture. He, too, is now dressed all in white, wearing a loose suit with the first buttons of his shirt left open. In an everyday setting, the shirts with open buttons would be more Daniel's style.

“Is Charles the head of this group?”

“Nah, we don't have that here. We're some sort of anarchic collective, not recognizing leaders and all that,” she explains, and Max nods along and writes all of it down on his note block, while Charlotte moans about not being supposed to tell him any of that as to not give away too much information to the outsider.

“The way people act around him just seems-”

“Cute?”

“No. I mean, yes but-” Max doesn't quite know what he's saying now, trips over his own words, and suddenly forgets how to use them properly, which shouldn't happen to a journalist. Charlotte smiles and empties her champagne glass as Max's cheeks grow hot.

“There's a line to get to him, I don't know about his preferences though.”

“I'm not interested in any lines, I'm just a reporter,” he says as if that is enough of an excuse or explanation. The girl in front of him raises an eyebrow, and something in her smile seems to change, morphing from playfully suggestive into something softer.

“Well, you're a good reporter then, and one of the good boys.” Charlotte pauses.

“I'm still talking to you,” she realizes, “I shouldn't be talking to you. I'll go kill myself now, excuse me.” And with that, she disappears and leaves Max hanging. He doesn't know Charlotte well, or frankly anyone at this meeting who isn't either Charles, Daniel, or Lando, and he feels a little lost, staring at the grapes on the table. Even they look expensive.

Talking to other members of the club doesn't really work out either, in the end, most of them either giving short replies that don't help him at all or simply walking away from the conversation, and Max feels more and more like he's not welcomed with every failed attempt at gathering information. Frustrated and in need of a break, he ends up a few meters away from the event on a log, scribbling things into his note blocks and trying to put his own feelings about the situation into words. Something in his chest stings, something he can't quite put a name on.

* * *

“How's it going, genius?” Charles asks from afar, which forces Max to take a break from his work as the other student approaches with a plate in one hand and one of the lanterns in the other. He sits down next to Max and smiles at him, the plate still in hand but the lantern securely put down behind them on the ground.

“Thank you, I haven't eaten yet.”

“Good, that's my food,” Charles replies, and the amusement that's written all over his face makes the embarrassment creep up the back of Max's neck. He looks down at his rather messy, pencil-written notes again while Charles shoves a mini sausage into his mouth.

“I apologize for their lack of cooperation. It was hard enough for me to get them to allow you to come and join us here in the first place.”

“It's fine, I've gathered enough information to fill two notebooks without their cooperation so far, half of one completely without using the letter E, in fact.”

“There's way too much salt in this,” Charles says instead of actually answering Max, frowning at his food but keeping on eating it nonetheless.

“This whole thing is pretty incredible but it's just some kind of foreplay before the big stunt tomorrow, right?”

“It's Daniel, he's Australian, they like salt.”

“How do you even pay for all of this? Are there monthly fees or do the alumni sponsor it? What exactly is happening tomorrow? How is this whole thing organized? And where are we? Are we even still in Connecticut? And does someone know that we're here? Like park rangers or something? And your answer can not include the word salt.”

Charles just smiles once again and carefully puts his plate down between them, swallowing down the rest of his food before properly facing Max. He's never noticed how nice his eyes look before.

“I think it's time to tell you the conditions. First, no pictures,” he announces and takes Max's camera away, too fast for the reporter to react and interfere. He's met with protest but barely cares, the lazy smile still on his face. Max leans back after the failed attempt to get his camera back, and sighs. Charles promises to give it back to him after their trip, at least that's a compromise.

“Second, you're not allowed to mention any names.”

“It's not really like I'm being introduced to people.”

“Third, no physical descriptions of any of us. There are authorities up and down the state looking for us for maybe potentially doing some things in the past, very bad things.”

“All of you will remain anonymous, of course,” Max reassures. Charles bites his lip but nods.

“Fourth, you're not allowed to reveal our location.”

“I don't even know where we are!”

“What number was I on?” Charles asks, and his faint smile is back. Max doesn't like it, as if the other student is making fun of him, as if Max's situation is funny, as if it's fair to make fun of someone who has no real clue of what's happening around him and isn't offered any help to figure it out any time soon. That's just how Charles is, apparently.

“Fourth,” he replies, mildly annoyed.

“Right, fifth, and this is the most important part, do not interfere with the integrity of this event.” He leans a bit closer to Max, which makes him automatically move back, holding on tightly to the notebook in his hands. It doesn't feel right, being this close to Charles. Something in his stomach protests.

“What _is_ the event and how could I possibly interfere?”

“So you agree?”

Max sighs again but nods in the end, and with that, their conversation is apparently over. Charles picks his plate back up and eats more of the small sausages, while Max fiddles with his note block. The metallic clinking of Charles's fork against the plate fills the heavy air between them. There's no reason to get nervous or self-conscious around Charles, that would only feed his already stupidly big ego. So Max forces himself to stop caring about what Charles thinks and relaxes almost immediately. It's strange what not caring does sometimes.

Back in the camp, the other Life and Death Brigade members have started singing a song together, their voices making their way into the woods, past the trees, and into the darkness. Max can only imagine what they must look like, the people dressed in white sitting around a campfire, singing and having fun together, drinking alcohol, leaning their heads against the shoulders of their loved ones, Lando and Daniel swaying each other around, and simply feeling young and free of sorrows just for one night. He smiles softly at the idea.

“It's beautiful.”

“They're drunk,” Charles says matter of factly and chuckles lowly. The voices get louder when they reach the chorus, and Max closes his eyes and lets the night air consume him, and the voices carry him through the darkness. There's a strange sense of longing in his chest, and the wonderful pain of knowing that this will all be over soon, a mere memory shared by this very group of people. And maybe that's the secret behind this group, that they have found a way to be young and careless every once in a while, to live life as it comes and make the most of it, and he wonders if he's doing the same, if he's even capable of it.

“It's still beautiful, I like it.”

“I didn't say I didn't like it,” the other student teases, chewing on his food. Charlotte appears not too far away from them at the path that leads back to the camp, together with another girl, and she asks Charles to come back to the party, to sing with them and enjoy his time. She sounds slightly drunk but happy, which is the more important part to Max at this moment. He smiles at Max apologetically before he gets up and goes back to rejoin the party, leaving nothing but questions and the lantern behind as the voices fill the night air. He thinks he can hear Daniel the loudest as he yells along to Sweet Caroline.

* * *

“Another day, another thing I didn't expect,” Max says when he emerges from his tent in the morning to see Charles waiting for him, dressed in a black suit, a fitting bowtie secured around his neck. He has his hands hidden in the pockets of his pants and leaves them there when Max approaches, simply smiling his signature smile in the morning sun that filters through the treetops. The fresh air has apparently helped him past a hangover.

“Maybe you should get ready as well,” he suggests and reminds Max that he agreed not to interfere with the integrity of the Life and Death Brigade not even half a day ago. Max, once again, tells him that he was not informed about the overnight stay or literally anything about the event before getting into the car yesterday and that he would have packed appropriate attire if Charles had bothered to mention any of this to him before they left.

“There's something in your tent for you, don't worry.”

“All that's in there is a washbowl, towels, and a toothbrush, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Charles.”

“Look again.”

And when Max goes back into his tent with a sigh while Charles stays outside, still smiling, probably just _waiting_ for Max to return to make fun of him. He checks one more time, looks under his nightstand and behind the bowl, even checks his bed again. Nothing. Unless...

Max kneels down on the oddly soft grass and leans to look under the bed, where a white carton is waiting for him. He can't contain the small smile that spills over his lips and lifts the box to put it on the bed, carefully removing the equally white ribbon to open it and reveal the surprise. There's a suit laying inside for him, and when he puts it on, it fits almost perfectly. Charles might have outdone himself this time.

“That's your integrity right here, mister,” he announces when he steps outside a bit later, and Charles gets up from the chair he's been waiting on, swallowing another grape before stepping up to Max to fix his bowtie for him. He's a lot closer than what Max would normally deem comfortable, smelling like the woods and some perfume that's probably too expensive for Max to know.

“I have an eye for suit sizes,” Charles says with a grin. He guides Max to the event, and his hand feels warm on Max's lower back.

* * *

“And by changing nothing, do we not change anything?” Lando says from where he's standing in front of the other Life and Death Brigade members, dressed in a suit as well but he's wearing an additional top hat to make him stand out from the other male members. He's still talking when Max and Charles finally arrive, champagne glass held high in one hand.

“...the 108th assembly of the honorable Life and Death Brigade. Please raise your glasses.”

Max makes a comment about how he's using E's again but promptly gets shushed by Charles, who hands him a champagne glass to raise as well.

“In omnia paratus.”

The crowd repeats his words in unison and only now does Max notice that he's standing next to Daniel, who looks very awake yet very unhappy. It's probably either the sun or the hangover, or both at the same time. He doesn't get to think about it any longer, because everyone moves to...clink glasses? Not quite. Charles lifts his own champagne glass to Max's lips to make him drink from it, so Max imitates the gesture and watches Daniel and Charlotte do the same, just like everyone else gathered in the semi-circle around Lando.

“You might want to cover your ears now,” Charles warns when they've put their glasses back down, and Max doesn't even get to ask why when the gong next to him rings, making him jump slightly. Charles smiles and shrugs his shoulders apologetically, and when everyone starts cheering and running away, Daniel pulling a pained face next to them, Charles grabs Max's hand to take him along to the games on the meadow.

“Weird to think that some groups just go bowling, right?”

* * *

While the members engage in games Max doesn't quite understand, he walks around with his note block in hand to examine everything, waving at Charlotte who happily returns the gesture, getting scared by a guy wearing one of the familiar gorilla masks, and watches couples sitting in the sun, on a blanket, of course, usually accompanied by a small table with fruits and chilled champagne on it. They're playing jazz music again, and Max barely avoids getting run over by the playing students.

Some of the guys are playing paintball not too far away from the other part of the group, looking scarily professional doing so, and Max recognizes one of them to be George, the tall guy from last night who insulted him for his speaking habits, yelling “pull!” before firing another well-aimed shot.

There are mats laid out on the meadow, and the targets are some of the other male members, who are willing to break a bone apparently, jumping off a small pedestal whenever George repeats his words. He yells again when Max arrives next to the small group, and his friends congratulate him for the perfect shot, which he simply writes off as pure skill and reloads.

“Is this safe?” he asks and gets a no in reply from all three of them in unison before George fires the next shot and promptly misses the target. His friends groan and tell him to blame it on the gun. Next to them, Daniel yells for a target to pull, and Max decides that he might be a better company, especially with Charles standing next to him to watch the debacle.

While everyone else holds their gun in a very professional, coordinated way, Daniel holds it more or less securely in one hand and uses his other arm to wave around in the air as he shoots, making the entire thing look oddly entertaining. Two more targets and he hits them both, which leads him to hand the gun to Charles with more force than needed. Daniel looks slightly ridiculous with a pair of safety goggles on and ear protection headphones slung around his neck, chewing on a straw of dry grass.

He takes it out of his mouth, twirling it between his fingers, only two of his fingernails are painted in dark violet, Max notices, and drops it on the ground, completely ignoring Max's sudden appearance.

“Alright, I'm bored. I want to be a target.” And while he leaves Max and Charles to stand alone, the other club member laughs and states that Daniel is always the target and that it never ends well. Max holds up a hand in precaution so Charles won't accidentally hit him with the gun. Daniel doesn't reply to that statement, simply says “in omnia paratus,” dramatically, and saunters away.

“If you want to interview Daniel, you should hurry and do it now,” Charles advises with amusement still in his voice but turns serious in the matter of a second when he lifts the gun and yells pull, hitting spot on when he shoots. Max compliments him, and Charles thanks him without even looking at him, focussing on his next target already.

“So is this the big stunt?”

“Big stunt?”

“Well, according to the sources I've found, you guys always have one big stunt that you do during your gatherings. Is this it?”

Charles yells “pull!” once more, and Max watches the next guy jump, orange paint seeping through his dress shirt.

“Does it look like it?”

“I guess no.”

“Well, you answered your own question, Max. Pull!”

Two of the previously hit targets, judging by the colorful spots on their otherwise crisp white dress shirts, walk past them, forcing Charles to put down the gun for once to let them pass, and they're carrying Daniel between them on a stretcher. The Australian groans, and informs his friends that he's missed the mat, with one arm draped across his stomach.

“Again?” Charles asks, and the sarcastic judgment is obvious in his voice. Max doesn't really know whether he should be concerned, but Daniel looks like he will get away with a few scratches and bruises once his arm stops hurting, so he probably shouldn't.

“I'll be fine, don't worry about me,” Daniel replies, with a dramatically high and desperate voice, almost stumbling over his words with how fast he is speaking. “In- in omnia-” and when he pretends to choke to death, his whimpers turning into a rather dramatic moan of pain, Max stops worrying entirely.

* * *

He's watching the entire thing from what he hopes to be a safe distance. In front of him, they have built a scaffold, so high that the sun bites his eyes, and his neck aches when he looks up to the top of it. The red banner he's seen a few times before in the past day is draped over the front, the golden letters of the Life and Death Brigade stitched into the fabric, with a dark green coat of arms underneath them, moving in the slight breeze that's brushing over the meadow. On top of the construction, four of the members have lined up, holding umbrellas in one of their hands, and they look so tiny and helpless up there from Max's perspective.

Charles arrives with one of his usual charming smiles and a dumb comment about how he hopes that Max is satisfied with this spectacle as the highlight of the trip because if he's not, Charles would be seriously concerned. He keeps walking, which naturally forces Max to follow him, note block in hand to document everything.

“Don't tell me they're going to jump.”

“They'll jump!” Charles sounds way too enthusiastic for Max's liking, although he at least makes an effort to fake his horror, so Max points out that this stunt will most likely cost them their lives if something goes wrong. Charles just shrugs and puts his hands into the pockets of his suit pants like he usually does.

“We're all going to die one day.”

“Yeah, but those four will die _today_! That's like seven stories they'll jump down.”

“Six,” Charles corrects, and Max needs a moment to realize that he's talking about the number of people jumping and not the height, “I'm also going up. Daniel was supposed to join us but honestly, only very few people thought he would actually make it this far, so there's a free spot.”

Max hums, lost in his thoughts about the big stunt and looks up once more. Charles stays silent next to him, still looking at Max, and only then does it click. Max immediately declines the offer without even giving Charles the chance to say it out loud, reasoning that he's there as a reporter and that journalists only observe and don't participate in events like this one.

“We're not going to die, no one in the Life and Death Brigade has ever died. Not during the events, anyway.”

“That's not very convincing if you ask me,” Max argues back, and takes another look at the scary construction. He's not considering it, is he?

“Should I go get Alex? He designed the thing and he can assure you that every potato made it through without a scratch.”

“Potatoes?” Charles looks like he doesn't quite get while that revelation only serves to alarm Max further, “You can't test it with real people, after all. That would be dangerous.”

Lando calls out for the jumpers to take their place, and Charles rolls his eyes, while Max still holds on to his note block as if it could help him to stand his ground, giving him something to cling on to in his uncertainty.

“You're scared.”

“Well yeah, obviously!”

“And when has fear ever stopped the great?”

“Well it's stopping _this_ great,” he replies and points at himself in exasperation. He's done weird things in his life before, quite a lot of them, actually, but he's not going to jump into what looks like his sure death.

“Come on, you need an adventure, Maxy. Do something stupid, something that's bad for you! Isn't that the whole point of being young? It's your choice in the end, but as they say, people can live a hundred years without having ever really lived for a minute. So you either climb up there with me and make it one less minute of not having lived or you don't.”

Charles is standing so close to him now that his chest is touching Max's shoulder, and he can feel the other student's breath faintly on his skill. Maybe he's right, maybe this, the essential message of the Life and Death Brigade, the symbol of what their goal is, is his chance to change something, for himself more than anyone else.

He agrees reluctantly, still unsure about whether or not it's a good idea, it's a terrible one probably, and climbs up the seemingly endless ladder with Charles following right behind him. Max has never been a fan of ladders, or heights, or people like Charles, but as long as he doesn't slip now, he figures he might be okay. At least the stunt looks like a way more aesthetic and heroic way to die than falling off a ladder.

“This is really high,” he points out the obvious when they've reached the top, taking a few careful steps towards the edge to look down to where the others are standing and watching them curiously. He can make out Lando with his stupid top hat, and Charlotte, and Charles shrugs behind him, unbothered.

“I've been higher.”

“I meant distance from the ground.”

“That too.”

A guy, whom he assumes to be Alex, reassures him that he'll be fine, and wraps a safety belt connected to a leash around Max's waist, putting it in place with skilled hands and pulling it tight enough to feel safe without squeezing Max's insides together professionally. At least they're taking precautions in some way.

“Why do _they_ look so worried?” he asks with another look down to the crowd where Lando is rambling something in Latin with the other members gathered around him just like they did earlier that day.

“We're low on champagne. Look, Max, you don't have to do this, no one will force you.”

He takes one of the umbrellas Charles is holding in his hand and confirms that he's well aware of that as confidently as he can manage to.

“Vos ipse parate,” Lando says, followed by the well-known catchphrase of the club, while Charles mumbles about checking whether the potatoes are actually okay, apparently suddenly worried as well. Max is not sure whether that calms him or makes him even more concerned about what they're about to do.

“Do you trust me?”

“You jump, I jump, Jack,” Max replies and swallows around the lump that's slowly forming in his throat. He can feel his heartbeat picking up speed, hammering so hard in his chest that it might break through his rib cage and escape any second before he even gets to jump. He can't exactly say that he's not nervous at all, but Charles grabs his hand tightly and his own one is just as sweaty. Together, they take a step forwards into the air.

Max's stomach drops, similar to how riding a rollercoaster feels, minus the knowledge that he won't die, and everyone is cheering and laughing when they do land without a scratch, just like the potatoes. Charles is still holding on to his hand, turning to look at him with a twinkle in his eyes and laughter bubbling in his chest, while the others are already refilling the champagne to celebrate the climax of the weekend. Lando and Alex congratulate them as well, and it sounds a lot like they weren't sure about how safe this stunt was either beforehand, which should make Max freak out more than it does now. Charles is still holding his hand, and he praises him happily for joining in on the fun, for daring to live a little more.

“That really was a once in a lifetime experience!”

“Only if you want it to be,” Charles replies, a bit calmer now, more serious, and the way he's looking at Max while he says that confuses the reporter immensely. Neither of them says anything for once, they just stare into each other's eyes, hearts pounding from the adrenaline kick, mixed with something else entirely.

Someone hands them both a glass of champagne, and the tension breaks as Charles lets go of his hand and gets promptly drawn into a conversation with other members of the club. Maybe he's just imagined all that, his mind playing tricks on him after his dangerous jump. The champagne feels like ice when it runs down his dry throat.

* * *

“Are you typing right now?” his mom asks reproachfully when Max picks up the phone on the third ring. He says that he isn't but keeps adding words to the document on his screen, which his mother notices, of course, she notices almost everything. He's sitting on his bed with his laptop in front of him on the mattress, surrounded by at least seven note blocks, a few ripped out pages, and one sheet with a rough outline for his article on it. He frowns at the sentence he's just written, marks it in bright yellow, and decides to fix it later when he can think about it properly again.

“I thought we said no typing while we talk?”

“I have to break this rule just once, I'm in a rush. The last few days have been crazy and I have to finish my article as soon as possible.”

His mother sighs down the line and then continues to talk about her own life, while Max hums and keeps typing, trying to multitask as well as he can. He's on his third page now and will definitely have to shorten the entire thing later but there's so much information, so many thoughts and feelings he has to fit into the story, aspects that he feels are important, that it is hard to just cut out things. Trying to find a compromise has always been a bit difficult for him and it's worse now that he has so much to talk about that he wants to get out of his system.

“Can I ask you something?” he interrupts his mom, who sounds startled but tells him to go ahead. He stops typing and removes his phone from where he's squeezed it between his cheek and his shoulder to hold it properly, taking a deep breath before he asks.

“Do you think I'm too shy?”

“What?”

“Too shy. Do I not take enough risks?”

“What kind of risks?”

“I don't know,” he says and shrugs, well aware that his mother can't see that from where she's standing in the living room of their home, “life risks, I suppose.”

“What makes you think that?”

He considers telling her all about his weekend, about the things he's seen and participated in, and about the things Charles has told him and taught him without meaning to but decides that he should probably do that in person instead before his phone bill goes through the roof and leaves him with no money for coffee, which would be tragic on another level. His mother deserves to hear the story with all its details.

“I've just been thinking about it lately,” he says instead of revealing the truth.

There's a knock on the front door, knuckles rapping quickly against the wood, so Max tells his mom about that, asks her to say hi to her boyfriend for him, and then hangs up. He drops his phone on the bed and hurries to the door, all why wondering who it could possibly be to bother him at that time of the day without mentioning anything to him beforehand. Maybe Esteban is coming over to bother Pierre again.

When he opens the door, there's no one there, no Esteban, no one else. People pass by in the hallway, talking quietly to each other and filling the air with soothing noise, but there's no one by the door. He looks right and then up the stairs, and into the corner where Daniel has stood not too long ago when he was searching for his potential soulmate. It was the day Max really talked to Charles for the first time.

He looks down on the doormat when he's about to return inside. There's a gorilla mask laying on it, next to his camera that he's almost forgotten about, and a bottle of rather expensive looking champagne. Max can't help but smile to himself, picks all the things up, and takes them back into his dorm before someone sees it and gets suspicious.

His bed looks like a mess with the notes covering it like a second blanket, laptop in the middle with the unfinished article still open and waiting for him to finish it. He put the champagne into the fridge in the living room and carefully places the mask on his desk but takes the camera with him as he returns to his bed.

Max turns it on and clicks through the photos, trying to see whether what he's captured before Charles took it away is still there.

The first picture that comes up is one that was taken before their jump, all six people lined up at the edge with their umbrellas in hand.

The next one was taken right when they jumped off, sailing down elegantly with their umbrellas carrying them through the air, the coat of arms clearly visible behind them.

The last one is zoomed in, focussing on him and Charles on their way to the ground. Their hands are tightly holding on to each other, and they're both laughing with their faces pale with lingering fear and their eyes shining with glee, freedom, happiness.

Max's cheeks hurt from smiling when he puts the camera back down, and there's a strange ache in his chest, a craving for more. He bites his lip and gets back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this until the end, that means a lot to me! Kudos, comments, and all your support are always very much appreciated <3
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd) if you want to yell at me for stealing content from Warner Bros. or just see what I'm up to
> 
> I'll see you soon :)
> 
> ( _Cast list_  
>  Max - Rory Gilmore  
> Charles - Logan Huntzberger  
> Nico - Dean Forester  
> Pierre - Paris Geller  
> Esteban - Doyle McMaster  
> Daniel - Finn Morgan  
> Lando - Colin McCrae  
> George - Robert Grimaldi  
> Charlotte - Stephanie  
> Alex - Seth  
> Carlos - Glenn Babble  
> Sophie - Lorelai Gilmore)


End file.
